


“Just Don’t Go Crazy...”

by Wealthywetsunny



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Gen, Humor, Johnny struggling in a woman’s body, Relic Malfunction, heart to heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28799013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealthywetsunny/pseuds/Wealthywetsunny
Summary: He’s slumped over in bed, cheek smushed into the pillows. “Preem,” he says it through a laugh, a surge of pure joy rushing through him. He goes to stand but he must’ve gone way too fast because he stumbles down to his knees. He cracks a grin, amused more than anything.aka Johnny’s trying to adjust to possessing a V’s body.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Female V
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	“Just Don’t Go Crazy...”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



He tried to kill V when he woke up inside her skull. He had been afraid, more so than when he was being tortured to the point of no return. His soul physically being torn apart and rewritten on a biochip. 

He hasn’t apologized just yet, they’re not at that stage in their friendship, but she still hazards to ask for his help. He knows why. There’s desperation in her eyes, and he recognizes that. Like a throwback to his past; when he was young and stupid and thought he had the whole world at his fingertips. He’s starting to see a little bit of himself in her, and right now she’d do just about anything to save her life. If that means he’s gotta hop behind the wheel to talk to Rogue then so be it. 

“Just don’t go crazy, okay?”

He grunts, arms crossed over his chest to feign disinterest. Truth be told he’s excited.  _ Giddy _ even. 

She’s sitting on her bed, leg bouncing nervously in tune with the radio. Her head’s bowed so her chin is tucked in close to her chest. V gives her one last look, pleading eyes and a wobbly lip, before she swallows the pill. Her hands are curled around the edge of the mattress, knuckles turning white from how tight she’s holding on. He feels the way her head pounds, they're both still reeling from the last time the relic malfunctioned. Him more from worry than pain, but still, he’s shaking all the same. 

She grimaces as it goes down, coughing and slumping to the side with a whimper that makes his heart ache, then she’s gone. 

Her eyes go dead, a scary thing to witness in any circumstance but especially this one. He’s killed a lot of people (Arasaka scum, all of them, but that’s just semantics and depending on who you ask then he wasn’t in the wrong), he’s seen the light leave someone’s eyes as their very life is drained out of them. But watching her lose consciousness like this...it’s all sorts of different. He doesn’t have time to be worried though--the switch happens faster than he would’ve assumed. And it takes a minute of rapid blinking before he realizes that he’s no longer an observer but actually  _ a goddamn person _ .

He’s slumped over in bed, cheek smushed into the pillows. “Preem,” he says it through a laugh, a surge of pure joy rushing through him. He goes to stand but he must’ve gone way too fast because he stumbles down to his knees. He cracks a grin, amused more than anything. 

And he tries again. 

He wobbles on his feet and comes up slouched over ever so slightly. It takes actual effort to straighten out his spine. It’s with mirth that his (her?) hands come up to touch just what threw him off about his new body, and he snorts. Fingertips grazing over his chest. Her chest, really, before dropping limply to his side with a chuckle.

The one thing the tabloids didn’t get wrong and twist a million different way is that Johnny definitely sexualizes every cute thing that catches his eye. He may have a hatred of joytoys and dolls, but V doesn’t fall into either of those categories and never told him to fuck off when she dressed and showered. He knew how large her tits are, he appreciated them in fact, something nice to look at and if he had the opportunity he’d be willing to bet they’d fill up his hands nicely. Nice to look at but not have--they’re a bitch to handle, ‘cause right about he can feel the soreness of her lower back and the sticky collection of sweat beneath her breasts...honestly he’s tempted to take her to a doc just to get them a helluva lot smaller. He’s surprised she never even considered it. 

Jesus Christ, he feels too top heavy.

He gets up with a grunt, glaring down at his new chest with pure, unadulterated annoyance.  _ Fuck it _ , he thinks bitterly, he’s dealt with worse shit, he can navigate through V’s body.

Or he thought he could, until he steps out into the street, picks a direction, and starts walking (he hasn’t driven in 50 years and now isn’t the time to relearn) and when he takes out her gun just to get used to its weight in his hands again, he notices how horrendous her nails are. They’re pretty, sure, but not functional. They’re painted a silver color that reflects the light, diamond studs on the index and pinky nail. If he had to guess he’d say they’re a good inch long. Exactly how is he supposed to get anything done? 

“It’s a wonder you’ve even got a scrap of skill with these nails. Fuck.” He curls and uncurls his fists, feels the sharp talons bite into his palm. “They’re a damn weapon all by themselves.”

He’s getting them cut. That’s his first executive order, she’ll thank him later, when she has full function of her hands again. What he actually ends up doing is gnawing them down to bits throughout the day, an old habit he didn’t realize he missed until he started back up. 

Johnny isn’t stupid, nor does he have a death wish, and he knows getting her a new set of tits would end poorly, so he leaves that alone, but for fuck’s sake if running isn’t the worst thing in the world now. He hadn’t expected to be doing any sort of physical activity, nothing too strenuous like his old ways. Even if it is his fault that he’d been forced to run in the first place, what can he say? He throws a mean left hook. Except usually when he pulls out a move like that the person goes down in one blow, a chrome set of enhancements will do that to someone. V doesn’t have anything too spectacular for a merc though, no mantis blades or guerrilla arms, just the flesh and bone she was born with. 

Now he’s sprinting away because the man he hit had friends, of course, but he had it coming. Johnny was just walking down the sidewalk, chomping away at his nails and trying to remember how to get to the Afterlife when he _ had _ to stop. The wolf whistle sent his way was enough to get his blood boiling.

Johnny can’t help but wonder how much street cred someone needs to keep shit like this from happening. He wants everyone to recognize V and tremble in fear when she walks by. She deserves more than to be treated like a cheap joytoy looking to be taken for a ride.

So yes, Johnny punched the fucker, and now he’s running because he still hasn’t had a chance to get a hang of using her limbs. Everything has this strange delay to it that is apt to get him killed. He won’t risk that. Especially when she had trusted him with carrying out one simple conversation. 

He isn’t even sure where he is now, running up a fire escape to get away and muttering a slew of curse words as he goes. He opts for holding tight to V’s tits to stop them from bouncing so damn much, making a mental note to apologize if she winds up remembering this.

He doesn’t have a plan when he makes it up to the roof. He spins in a quick circle, looking for a way out because her half eaten nails are still too long for him to comfortably hold her gun. 

“Fuck.” She’s got a knife on her--smart merc--and he reaches for that just as the first man flings himself up the last flight of steps with a snarl. “Come on, asshole, I’ve been missing this.”

The gangster are amateurs, not as well versed in hand to hand as Johnny is. They may be bigger than V’s slight frame, but that just gives her an advantage. She’s light on her feet in a way Johnny always wished he could be. He used to be one for brute strength, but V’s scrappy and small, agile like a cat. It’s a good thing she at least has the weapons to handle herself, he’ll give her that. She has an eye for a proper arsenal, the blade is sharp and slices flawlessly through the throats of her assailants, jabbing itself into stomachs and the backs of necks.

V’s probably going to be pissed that she’s covered in blood now--her jobs usually don’t end up with her so messy, but him and her have different styles, he’ll try and explain that to her.

Rogue is properly shocked when she sees him, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head up curiously when Johnny shoulders past her muscled guard and collapses down on the couch beside her. Without a word he grabs the nearest shot glass and downs it, kicking his feet up on the table like he’s so used to doing.

“Rogue,” he raises the now empty glass in her direction, smiling broadly. 

“V.” Her eyes flicker over to her bodyguard, holding up a hand to stop him. “You’re missing a tooth.”

“Oh…” he raises a hand up to his cheek, prodding around where it feels raw and tender. His tongue swipes around until he finds what she’s referring to and scowls. Maybe V won’t notice that.

“What happened to you? And when did you grow such a pair of balls? Never were one to be  _ that  _ blunt, strutting in like you own the place.” 

Johnny fills her in on everything. V gave him the go ahead in that regard. And so he tells her about being tortured by Arasaka until he disappeared into the Net, nothing more than lines of code that was stored on a biochip. He tilts his head to the side, pushing V’s hair away from his skin to run his fingers across the destroyed relic. He tells her how that the relic ended up in a certain merc’s hands and now he’s here. That he woke up in a landfill with her, terrified out of his mind and lashed out at the first person he saw and that just so happened to be V.

He couldn’t imagine doing that now. But that’s neither here nor there.

And of course he backs everything up the best he can by keeping the same rockerboy douchebag attitude Rogue’s used to. He falls back into habit with her easily, almost like no time had passed between them at all. It’s everything he hoped for. All those emotions and sensations no longer dulled by being stuck watching the world roll by through someone else's eyes. 

“So, how long are you planning on staying around, Johnny?”

He feigns checking a watch V doesn’t have, waving Rogue’s concern away when he points off towards the bar with a laugh. “I’m not too sure, never done this before. But I’m gonna make it worth my while.”

He finds himself a seat and drums his fingers on the wood of the bar. Catching Claire’s attention with a pleased hum.

“Hey, V, you never usually swing by for drinks so early. Special occasion?” 

Johnny laughs, leaning forward with his chin propped up by the palm of his hand. “You could say that.”

“Huh, alright, I won’t pry. Never a good idea when you’re with a merc.” She grins at him playfully. “What can I getcha?”

He doesn’t hesitate, he’s been dreaming of this moment. “Tequila, old fashioned with a splash of cerveza and chili garnish.”

“Aha, One Johnny Silverhand coming right up.” She flashes him another pretty smile, and if Claire and V weren’t friends he just might make a move. “No one’s ordered that in a while.” 

“Damn shame, it’s fucking amazing.”

“You say that like you knew the guy or something. Neither of us were even born when Samurai was around.” She slides the drink in his direction and his fingers wrap around the shot glass with ease. 

“But you still know who the band was, you still know his name,” Johnny tips the glass in her direction, throwing a wink her way that makes her eyes go a smidge wide with amusement. He throws the drink back, coughing at the flush of warmth that runs through him. “Fucking hell, it’s good to be back.”


End file.
